Toulouse approaches the maze like a wolf drawn by the scent of blood, the promise of an easy reward far too strong to resist.
Like magic in the air.
A smile curves at his lips, pearlescent teeth shining in the dark. The golden man pays no mind to the others, doesn’t keep track of who chooses which path as they disappear into the maze. He is only weighing his options,
He’s here for himself after all, he, himself, and him alone.
Finally, finally, he steps forward, choosing the fourth path. It’s the look of it that draws him in, the very plainness that seems to suggest if he looks too close, he’ll see what the lack of extravagance is hiding. ’The queen promised dreams, he reminds himself as he walks farther and farther into the maze, ’would she really lie to us?
Of course everyone lies, he knows, he knows, but he’s willing to gamble tonight.
The darkness comes, subtly at first, then rushing in like a wave of death and despair. Flowers and their thorns brush against his sides but he presses on, rejecting their advances, only hoping they don’t snag on the crimson scarves draped from his horns and sides.
But they become harder to ignore, vines creeping across the ground and making every step treacherous, every move a calculation. But it is far too late to turn back now, nor does he want to. He is a wolf; fear is not known to him.
He hears her before he sees her; her voice curling through the mist like a snake through grass. She appears so slowly that he wonders if he is not imagining it.
She beckons for them to choose, leave or stay, and Toulouse is silent, still, unmoving.
He will not go. What harm could the witch’s flowers deal?
there are many paths to tread
toulouse chooses the fourth path.
enfanir art
